


All overset in births and joys

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Punching out my dancelines [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Babies, Fluff, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2484482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>0. I’ve often wondered how modern Nerdanel would feel about all these rugrats she was popping out…</p>
    </blockquote>





	All overset in births and joys

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. I’ve often wondered how modern Nerdanel would feel about all these rugrats she was popping out…

Fëanor stared at Nerdanel, grey eyes wide and disbelieving. “What did you say?” 

“You heard me.” Nerdanel rubbed her temples tiredly as she rocked the cradle with one foot. “Enough is enough.” 

“But…” 

“I know you love our children. I know you love children in general. But I think we’ve hit capacity.” 

“We can install bunk beds,” said Fëanor at once. “If space is your concern, I’ve had some thoughts on lofting – ” 

“Space is not my concern, sweetheart.”

One of the twins started to cry, and awakening, his brother joined in. Fëanor reached into the cradle to scoop them both into his arms. “I just don’t want to close the door on the option of more children.” 

“Unless you’re offering to bear them yourself, you’re out of luck.” 

“We are  _not_  at capacity.” 

“Let’s review, shall we?” Nerdanel counted on her fingers. “We have a brooding fourteen year old who spends so much time silent and locked in his room that I sometimes forget what he looks like. We also have brooding  _twelve_  year old, who unfortunately makes his presence all too known by playing Black Sabbath on the violin at all hours of the day. We have a hyperactive nine year old who’s been kicked out of three schools for behavioral issues, and a seven year old who’s set the kitchen on fire twice. Then there’s our three year old – ” 

“Curvo’s a model child,” said Fëanor, indignantly. 

Nerdanel stared pointedly at his ankle, around which Curufin was wrapped. “He has such attachment issues that you literally have to bring him to work with you.” 

“But he sleeps through the night and has an amazing vocabulary for his age,” said Fëanor, with an air of brushing all incidentals aside. 

“I  _agree_ , Fëanaro. We are blessed with wonderful sons! It is amazing that we have had seven with all their fingers and toes and no major problems, other than the headaches they induce. But we are hitting our limit of what we can sustain. Have you thought about how we’re going to put all of them through college?” 

“They’ll get scholarships,” said Fëanor, instantly. “Nelyafinwë’s already in the 90th percentile for his grade, and they will  _all_  grow up to be talented.” 

“Seven is a lucky number. Let’s cap it at that. We  _cannot_  have any more children.” 

“They’re so cute, though,” said Fëanor, resorting to the lowest form of manipulation and holding up the two red-headed bundles as an example. 

Nerdanel was unmoved. “Let them latch onto  _your_  nipples for a year then.” 

As Fëanor glowered, Nerdanel put her hands on her hips. “Fëanaro, my darling, love of my life: I’m sorry but unless you want me to go Lysistrata on your ass – ” 

“Watch your language!” hissed Fëanor, turning away so as to shelter the twins’ tiny ears. 

“ – unless you’re looking forward to a life of celibacy – and I know I’m not – the time has come.” Nerdanel crossed the room and put her hands lovingly on either side of her husband’s face. “Beloved, it is time to get a vasectomy.”


End file.
